Chapter 21
HARTLEY
Alaska has decided the living room rug is now a construction site, and every block she owns needs to exist in the same three square feet.
Plastic towers lean dangerously close to collapse, a stuffed fox supervises from the couch, and she hums under her breath while she works, completely absorbed in stacking one uneven piece on top of another.
I sit cross-legged across from her, holding two blocks she shoved into my hands five minutes ago. The radiator clicks behind us, steady and familiar, and outside the window traffic rolls past in slow waves.
“You sure that’s safe?” I ask, eyeing the tower.
She nods with absolute confidence and adds another block anyway.
It collapses immediately.
She freezes, then looks at me like betrayal has occurred.
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. “Hey, you tried. Now, next time try something different.”
She pushes the pile of blocks toward me, clearly informing me that if I’m going to talk, then I’m responsible for helping build.
I lift my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I see how it is. I talk, I build.”
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I glance at the screen.
Stellan.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and answer, leaning back against the couch. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he says, voice warm, familiar, and something in my shoulders loosens automatically. “You busy?”
I watch Alaska carefully place two blocks together. “As you saw I’m just supervising a major engineering project.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Sounds serious.”
“It’s high stakes.”
There’s a small pause and I realize I’ve started to look forward to his voice at the end of my day.
“How was your day?” I ask.
Another pause, longer this time.
“Good,” he says. “Different.”
I frown slightly. “Different how?”
He exhales slowly. “I went back today.”
The words take a second to fully hit me.
“Back,” I repeat.
“To work,” he says. “First day back at the firehouse.”
Everything inside me goes still.
I didn’t know.
My stomach drops as images flash through my mind; sirens, smoke, Lance walking out the door for the last time, promises nobody meant to break.
“Oh,” I say, and the word comes out flatter than I mean it to.
Alaska pushes another block toward me. I take it automatically, my attention split between her and the sudden tightness in my chest.
“You’re quiet,” Stellan says gently.
I swallow. “Sorry. I was thinking.”
A beat passes.
“You’re angry,” he says.
“I’m not angry,” I say quickly, then exhale. “Okay, that’s not entirely true. I was mad for like two seconds. I’m over it.”
Silence hums between us.
“I think I’m more… hurt,” I admit. “Which I don’t have a right to be. I knew what you did when we met and knew you were on leave so of course you’d go back. That’s your career, and you love it. I know you do.”
I rub a hand over my face, watching Alaska line blocks into a crooked row.
“But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried,” I continue. “Or scared for you.”
I glance at Alaska and turn slightly away, pressing my fingers against my forehead as heat stings behind my eyes.
“After my brother,” I say softly, almost whispering, “I get wound tight about people I care about running toward danger. Especially danger that’s on fire.”
For a second neither of us speaks.
“I should’ve told you,” he says. “I was excited, honestly. When I called to update my captain, he wanted me in right away. Everything moved fast and I didn’t think past that. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you.”
“I know,” I say.
“I was safe,” he adds. “And I’m going to keep being safe.”
I almost argue, almost say you can’t promise that, but the words stop halfway to my mouth. Instead I nod even though he can’t see me.
“I know you will,” I say quietly.
There’s a small shift in his tone then, lighter, teasing creeping in. “Can we go back to the part where you admitted you care about me?”
Heat climbs into my face despite myself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I heard it,” he says. “Can’t unhear it.”
I shake my head, smiling even as nerves flutter low in my stomach. “Yeah. I like you.”
The words feel strange, simple, and terrifying all at once.
“I like you too,” he says immediately. “So maybe we should do something about that.”
I blink. “Like what?”
A small pause, then, “Be my boyfriend.”
My breath catches hard enough that I forget to answer right away.
Boyfriend.
I inhale slowly. “Okay,” I say, not bothering to hide my smile.
His exhale sounds relieved, warm. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I repeat, quieter but certain.
We talk a few minutes longer, nothing important and somehow everything important; about dinner, about his shoulder holding up, about Alaska’s construction project.
When we hang up I stare at my phone for a second, a grin still stuck on my face.
I have a boyfriend.
The thought feels unreal enough that I laugh under my breath.
“Alright,” I say, clapping my hands once. “Dinner.”
Alaska immediately abandons construction and follows me to the kitchen.
Tomato soup warms on the stove, the smell filling the apartment while butter melts in a pan.
Grilled cheese sizzles, bread turning golden as I press it down carefully.
I make her sandwich smaller, cut into triangles the way she prefers, and throw together a tuna melt for myself because suddenly I’m starving.
We eat at the table, soup cooling in slow swirls while she dunks her sandwich with serious concentration.
I catch myself smiling for no reason.
After dinner comes bath time, pajamas, the familiar routine of bedtime. She signs goodnight before curling onto her side, fox tucked in her arms, eyes already heavy.
I sit beside her a minute longer than usual.
“Guess what,” I whisper, even though she’s half asleep. “I have a boyfriend.”